A storm system was building through the week, but the Saturday forecast remained steady with "light and variable" winds with one promising day after another popping up to follow as Saturday approached. The tides were good, I was eager to continue staining, and preferred to conclude summer adventures at cozy Snettisham without the further complication of combining tides with good weather come the end of September. It was Taku time, unusually following a Taku trip just a week and a half ago with no Snetty excursion in between (Dru and David having decided against a Labor Day expedition in favor of further attempts at cohos, though we were ultimately unsuccessful). On Friday it was hard to imagine better weather on the horizon as rain pelted down and leaves fell sideways from the yellowing trees. But other than some random deluges around mid-day, Saturday had fine, calm weather, and the last showers had passed by the time Ezra and I loaded the boat at 2:00. I'd spent the day doing some fall house cleaning, walking Cailey, and making a trip to Don Able for a couple of PT 2x12x8s, and was unusually relaxed for spending much the day waiting for the tide. The trip up was very pleasant, uneventful and with no seas to speak of, just the usual wakes in the channel. I was grateful that the Coast Guard boat was inspecting someone else as we went past, but only because it would have stressed me ahead of the tide. As it was, the heavy rain over the previous couple of days had raised the CFS from less than 20 k (where it has lingered lately) to about 33 k that morning and, with a 15+ tide, I had no issues at all coming up, cruising straight across the slough (slowly) in about 4.5 feet of water.

I found the landing about six inches above the river level, perfect for unloading. With everything stashed on the cart, I then puttered first downriver and then upriver for a probable landing spot to scrabble up the bank. Roger and my mom were following me and I wanted to leave the convenient landing to them, so I needed to find an alternative. There was no beach showing anywhere nearby downriver, so I looked upriver and found a small beach just at the downriver edge of the alders. There were trees in the river at the bottom of it, so it took several attempts to back into the narrow slot to the beach without getting stuck in them, where I hopped off, tied the stern line to a root, and pushed it off where it settled nicely in the river. I climbed up the roots and moss and retrieved the cart and a rather relieved Cailey from the landing. I hastily unloaded at the cabin, opened up, returned the cart to the landing for the others, then unpacked, sent an inreach message, and was lighting the pilots on the stove when I heard Cailey barking and looked up to see the others pushing the cart up the path. They'd made it about an hour after me.

We sat in the living room and had a drink before they went back to anchor their boat. At this point in the summer, I have less motivation than usual, and we'd arrived unusually late (around 4:00), and it began to get pretty dusky by 8:00, so I just chatted and lingered in the living room until about 8:15 when we all scattered to bed. I read in my cozy room until about 9:30 and then dozed off. Sleep was good when I had it, but I was wide awake for what seemed like hours in the middle of the night, perhaps over-stimulated by unaccustomed evening conversations. I slept well after I finally dozed off again and didn't wake up until the others rose around 7:30.

Again I didn't have my usual gumption--this time the early morning motivation to go and do something before relaxing. Instead I had some breakfast and a cup of cafe francais and lingered until about 9:00 before I rallied, packed my backpack, and headed out with Cailey, my only immediate goal being the trail cameras downriver. We stopped to check out the area beneath the eagle tree behind Burnet Meadow on the way. This turned out to be a very open area between a couple of spruces with some moose bones on the ground. I found nothing directly under the nest but fallen sticks, but noted that it looks very climbable and the nest can't be more than 30 or 40 feet off the ground. By the time we were heading back from Wallow Copse, the fog that was lingering over the valley was burning off and sun was breaking through on the beautiful early fall meadows. I was having such a pleasant time that I decided to continue my camera work, heading down the loop to the others. On the way we detoured into Devastation Alley to find that some of the nagoonberries have ripened promisingly. Back in the woods, I placed the "no hunting" sign I'd left there into the ground and ziptied the bottom of the sign to its post and the whole thing to a tree on the side of the trail.

We got back to the cabin around 11:30, over two hours from departure, and I made quesadillas for my mom and I for lunch. After we ate, I fetched the two 2x12s from the landing with the cart and, in about 20 minutes, had pushed them all the way to the first slough on the upriver trail that one of them was meant to cross. I had imagined all this time that I'd be humping one heavy board at a time on my back in stages all along the trail, but instead I was able to push them both at the same time with minimal effort, struggling only to go over roots and the occasional depression in the ground. It was ridiculously simple. I put them in functional position, though the first one should have a 4x4 beneath one end so it doesn't slope down. The board I placed over the large, curvy slough that is the hardest to cross fits perfectly between the slopes and while it still requires stepping up the bank on the far side, it's a vast improvement and needs no additional supports. Both will get no-skid surfaces next summer.

Rather astounded at the ease of that project, I returned the cart to the cabin and came inside where Roger was napping and my mom was reading my cabin log entries. Seeing an opportunity to share and with my laptop full of unwatched videos, I sat next to my mother and we silently watched the rest of the winter videos she hadn't seen yet as well as almost all the summer videos including everything I had just downloaded. This was the perfect day to carry the laptop with me (dry and unhurried) and I only have the more remote cameras and two closer in to tend now.

Roger left shortly before we finished up the videos, at which point my mother headed outside to prep the front wall for staining. I sat outside and chatted with her for a while while she cleaned and bleached the top three logs from a stepladder, as those all had mildew to one degree or another, mostly unseen by me on the ground when I'd worked on them before. Eventually I got up to help, scraping and sanding the more exposed lower logs. At 4:40 she left to visit Roger who was working on the boat and I finished it up around 5:30 when they returned. We had drinks and chatted, then I heated up some Indian food and made toast and ate it on the porch while my mother started their dinner. Now I'm upstairs while they eat with my two kerosene lights going in my quiet, cozy room. Cailey is up here with me where, other than during coffee, she has been all day when inside! She's repeatedly taken herself to her bedroom, only coming down when I get her or, once, when I was about to have dinner. It's adorable, but a little odd. I gave her a treat to bury while we were working on the front wall and she tended to that and then found a ball to destroy before she wandered the property happily. The sunny sky became mostly overcast as the day wore on and there is a distinct chill in the air. Long periods of silence while I've been out have been broken by chickadees, juncos, yellow-rumped warblers, white or golden-crowned sparrows, jays, and about 20 beautiful Canada geese that I watched flying over the river and landing on the mostly-flooded sedge bar where I collected plugs for the landing in June. Tomorrow I hope to go for a morning canoe and perhaps walk around more in the vicinity of the cottonwood-birch copse while my mother stains.

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At that I was successful. I slept better and was surprised to find that it was quarter to eight when I woke up without hearing much stirring from downstairs. I got up and fed myself and Cailey as quietly as I could (the latter on the porch) before heading out at 8:40 before seeing anyone else. The day was dead calm and pleasantly overcast and we made good time, going ashore at Big Bend just past the new beaver lodge. We climbed the hill and glassed the horizon, seeing nothing. I then spent about an hour wandering what turned out to be a surprisingly large nagoon and strawberry meadow downriver of the spruces which extended much farther than I thought, harvesting three tub (3 cups each) of ripe nagoonberries. By then it was 11:00, so we headed back to the canoe and the utterly calm slough, broken only by the lone green-winged teal we pushed in front of us.

We made it back to the cabin shortly after noon to find my mom nearly finished with staining the front wall, which was looking great despite the weathered patches on the bottom. I took a wet rag and wiped up the stain on the deck against the wall, then made quesadillas for everyone while my mom finished and Roger started cleaning the railing with a wire brush. After we ate, Roger stained the railings while my mom and I walked Moose Loop in both directions to try to solidify the route in her mind. To my surprise, I learned that she and Roger were heading out that day. Still surprised (although I had at one time known this was a possibility), they quickly packed and headed to the boat at 4:00, and suddenly I was alone. I reorganized a little, then prepped the back wall of the cabin for staining the next day using my mom's strategy of wiping down the upper logs with a rag dipping in a tub of bleach. In this case, because there didn't seem to be any obvious mildew, I started out with a weak solution for the logs already stained, then made it stronger for the portion of logs that had never been stained to the right of the door, the wall then covered in firewood. I also decided to do the three accessible beams since I'd be doing ladder work anyway. Oddly, a lot of the silt on the upriver side of the logs were green, apparently with algae.

I finished at 4:45, fed Cailey, and headed out on my own to the canoe to catch the end of the incoming tide to bring the canoe home. It was still utterly calm and the paddle serene and pleasant. I came across a duck that didn't seem to fit the pattern of mallards and teal and slowly crept up on it, getting an excellent look at its wings as it flushed which identified it as an American wigeon--maybe my first up here. I also saw a gray northern harrier fly along the slough, land, and then cross downriver. Like the one I'd seen that morning at Big Bend, most of the harriers we see are brown or russet making this adult male an uncommon find.

Near the mouth of the slough I cast for 15 minutes without a nibble, then turned and headed upriver. It took me 20 minutes to win the landing, most of the way easy except for the section between the first submerged spruce and just beyond the junction with the channel heading out into the middle of the river which required dedicated and hard paddling. I lugged the canoe up the steep slope (the water was now low enough to reveal a small amount of beach at the bottom of the landing) and put it away for the winter. I did some cleaning and packing that evening and had leftover pizza for dinner heated in the oven. Cailey stayed downstairs with me through dinner and an X-Files before returning to her landing perch until bed!

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After a solid night's sleep, I was up early and quickly checked the boat and the water situation. A long beach extended from the landing, about as low as it was when I came up last time. I was on a ladder and staining around 8:00 and finished up at 9:40. As most of the logs were already stained and in good shape, most of the back wall was a pleasure and my excitement about staining the cabin was renewed. The beams and the water bench were a little trickier, but the end result looked quite good especially when it was shiny and wet. I was especially pleased with how the bare logs near the firewood turned out--lighter of course than the others, but much better.

I then had breakfast and drank a cup of special coffee on the porch swing before heading up to Devastation Alley with Cailey. The sky was bright and mostly blue, the scenery gorgeous, and I regretted that I had to leave so soon, and for the last time this year. But the berry picking was great. I left the first mound and surrounding area unpicked in case my mother makes it, then picked five tubs (about 16 cups) in an hour and could have kept going but for taking pity on Cailey, the waning day, and my back! For her part, Cailey was once again amazing, following me as I moved, then sitting patiently while I picked, never pushing me to go. On the way back we took the back loop and then the mini loop, putting more old alder logs along the new trail to further define it.

Back at the cabin I soon set to work staining the porch swing which had cleaned up so nicely from pressure washing. This was a very complicated subject and most was executed with my little foam brush, but the results were quite stunning. It had never really occurred to me to restain it! I then filled a couple of water jugs, cleaned and organized the back porch, finished cleaning inside, and decided I had enough time for one more little excursion before I had to leave. I returned to the eagle tree I'd stopped by a few days before and climbed it! It was a wolf tree with huge branches all the way up and the climbing was fairly easy. The nest was about two and a half feet deep and about five feet wide, all covered in soft moss. Sitting it it was comfortable and felt very secure. An eagle flew around me at a distance but didn't come any closer and I hoped he or she wasn't bothered. I've been interested to see that eagles are often in that area, even past the nesting season. I enjoyed the view for a few minutes, sent Ezra an inreach message, tried to take some selfies, and then descended, just a little bit chuffed.

I got back about 3:15, bustled around a little, and then finally sat down for a cold lunch and root beer on the porch (camp chair, not swing!) while Cailey chewed on her buried hoof. I'd wanted to work on the trail from Alder to the Glen, but there just wasn't time, as I was thinking about departing at 4:00 which might give me time to stop at a place or two and coho fish on the way home. But, when I finally confirmed the time of the tide, I saw that it wasn't until 6:00 and, with the excessively low and falling river, I realized I'd probably be wise to actually wait for the tide, so I delayed it until 5:00. This gave me a free hour, so like a crazy person, I grabbed clippers and started with on the new trail at Alder, clipping most of the way to the open area between trees that I'd determined was the turning point from a downriver direction to a toward the mountain direction, then skipped ahead to there and started clipping past the turn. To make sure the trail I'd already started and the one I was on matched, I bopped back and forth between the two and it was a happy moment when they met. The clearing wasn't hard, for it was 90% devil's club, but there was a lot of it. I felt bad pulling them up, but the trail is going to be beautiful and I believe the wildlife moose will make it even better. On the way back I finished cutting the last section I'd skipped over and was done in an hour. So, at present, there is a decent primitive trail from Alder to the little wet channel where the clear trail from Glen ended in dense devil's club and no clear path.

Then it was 5:00, so I finished the cabin log, loaded the cart, did the final chores, closed the cabin, and made it to the landing around 5:25 expecting to head out about half an hour before the tide which, as far as I could tell, was not having a bit of influence on the water level yet which was now somewhat below the level during which I'd landed last time (at 17,600 CFS). It was when I went to fetch the boat from the (now) broad beach upriver that the stress plummeted down on my shoulders. The thought had crossed my mind that lower water might mean that my tidily anchored boat would become difficult to fetch, but I'd figured that Roger could deliver me on his boat, assuming at the time that we'd depart around the same time. Now was the test, and I failed. At least the line was free in the water and I was initially able to pull the boat in as usual, but as soon as the stern began to turn broadside to the current, I found it more difficult to make headway. The low water meant that the river was more channelized and the tide was having no influence on the flow, plus the log at the lower end of the small beach was now exposed much farther out in the river. Around the time that my strength failed to budge the boat any further as my boots sank into the soft sand, the propeller came in contact with a branch on the log. I'm not sure which was worse, or they worked together, but there was no way the boat would come any closer and it was in water much too deep to wade to.

With mounting stress, I threw the loose line in the water and raced up the bank and down to the landing. There was only one way I could get the boat and that was with another water craft. As quickly as I could, I slid my canoe to the landing, shifted most of the gear stacked on the landing aside, and power walked back to Alder to fetch a paddle before sliding the canoe into the river. Up I paddled, to Cailey's consternation, and tied it to the boat. As I added five gallons of gas to the fuel tank, I yelled at Cailey to stay, for she had descended to the beach and was working her way upriver around the logs, trees, and debris and into the river in pursuit. Thankfully she stayed put where she was, but that didn't do anything to reduce my stress. In addition to all the trouble, the minutes were ticking by toward the end of the rising tide and it was already going to be a touchy escape from the river.

With the strong current, I was relieved that, after considerable pulling inches at a time, the anchor came up without a problem and I was soon snuggled in at the landing. Cailey got aboard first, using the seat of the canoe as a step up into the bow, and then the rest of the gear was loaded. Finally, I had to repeat the strenuous task of pulling the canoe up the steep bank, remembering this time to shift it off the stairs earlier which made the last few feet before it could lever up and rest on the top of the bank a little easier. I rearranged all the gear on the boat, turning to watch a boat enter the middle channel, make a dramatic 360, and retreat to the shoreline where it idled. At 6:00 on the dot, we started down the river at a slow pace until we passed the boat, ensuring they were okay with a thumbs up. I took a straight route across the slough mouth again and was in very shallow water, touching bottom some of the time, never able to move at more than a crawl. Extremely relieved to make deep water again, I sped up to cruise down the shore to where things were really going to get dicey. Could I find the channel between the bank and deeper water? I hoped I'd see a clear channel as I'd had when I came up in low water, but couldn't be certain when I got there. There was a clear sandbar on my right and I knew there was a submerged one ahead and, hopefully, I'd hit the passage between them. I set out from shore tense and concerned, picking my way at an angle and hoping that the line in the water that I was forced to pass was not the edge of a sandbar. If I went aground at that point, I might not be able to get off the sandbar with the current pressing me into it and might not be able to win the cabin again, and I didn't have my camping gear.

In short, I made it. The line seemed to denote deeper water, and I made it there without touching bottom. Eventually the depth increased from 3 to 4.5 to 9 feet as I plunged south, at which point I picked up speed and hurled myself toward the glacier where I had two more less-harrying sections to make it through before we left the river. As I shot out from the cliffs, I noted the exposed sandbars close on the right that I'd run over the last time and followed the channel down along the vegetated banks and back to the point. There wasn't as much water depth there as I would have liked, but we were not in any danger of touching bottom. It was a little less secure passing over to Scow and we crossed multiple shallow areas, but without touching bottom (there might have been one point when we did briefly). Very much relieved, we sped down the shore toward Flat Point where I stopped to put more clothing on, use the bucket, and breathe a huge sigh of relief. It's not the kind of departure I prefer, but at least we'd made it out with only severe anxiety and a bit of extra labor to show for it. Thankfully the weather was dead calm and we cruised without incident all the way home. By the time we approached the channel, the sea was golden with the sunset and we sped toward a peach and deep rose sky reflected in the glassy water. Dusk comes early in September, as it was only then 7:30 pm. Cailey got very chilled, perhaps in part because of wading in the river on the way out, and was shivering. I covered her with both blankets and she eventually warmed up. We were both happy to reach the harbor and the warmth and security of home.

At anchor